


novelist (5+1)

by mvrcredi



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Admiration, Established Relationship, Established Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Fluff, Love, M/M, Married Couple, Mild Language, The Avengers (2012) Compliant, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 23:24:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15497112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mvrcredi/pseuds/mvrcredi
Summary: Tony could write entire novels about the things he loved about Steve.(Aka five things Tony loves about Steve, and one thing Steve loves about Tony.)





	1. those five things

**( 1 )**

 

It was often Tony found himself incapable of tearing his gaze from Steve’s cerulean irises.

It was often that he found himself lost in the depths of Steve’s baby blues, the exact ones that were _so full_ of emotion. _So full_ of depth.  _So full_ of stories, some Tony may never know.

There were times where Tony notices Steve’s in a rather sorrowful mood after being reminded of a torturous past— he notices the mix of anger, fear, _regret_ in Steve’s eyes. He then watches as love and hopefulness floods into his expression when Tony goes to comfort him. Tony hates seeing those electric blues red-rimmed over something that was out of his husband’s control. It broke his heart every time, but mended it all the same knowing he was able to gift Steve solace as he rubbed his beloved’s back and whispered the phrases, _“I love you,”_ and, “ _It’s going to be alright,_ ” like a mantra.

There were other times when Tony notices the way Steve’s azure irises filled with _lust, want, desire,_ as they fell, entangled, onto the lush king size mattress that belonged to their bedroom _._ He adored how Steve’s eyelids flitted open and shut to reveal moments of ardor as soft, pink lips explored each other, and more. Tony was particularly fond of the way they lingered desperate, needy,  _pleasure-filled_ after Tony had fucked him senseless.

Despite all this, Tony still found himself favouring the emotions Steve conveyed in his eyes in the midst of battle. Tony always knew Steve was fierce, headstrong, and morally driven— but with action came this _fire,_ this _drive_ to fight the battles no one else could. Looking out for the little guy. The defenseless. And Tony could see these feelings _burning_ in Steve’s eyes. He adorned a ferocious attitude, a vehement spirit when they brawled with whatever was being thrown at them that day. The best moments, Tony found, were when he flew in to pick up the Captain by the waist for faster transport, as they would excuse it for. Tony always took it as an opportunity to sneak a glance into his enchanting, excited, _determined_ eyes unbeknownst to Steve.

There were often times Tony wished he had Steve’s talent for art. He wished he had an artist’s hand that would will him to carefully scrape out the outline of his husband’s eyelids, and trace the gentle slopes of Steve’s long lashes. Tony wished he could shade in the vibrant hue that he was so fascinated with, and capture every emotion that was on display in his pupils. The same pupils that would dilate every time Steve looked at Tony. The latter was still baffled as to how he managed to earn that loving gaze.

No matter what, though— Tony would cherish every time they locked eyes and readily shared a mutual expression of _love_ and _trust,_ and it filled the (literal) gap in Tony’s chest.

Tony loved Steve’s eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

**( 2 )**

 

Sometimes Tony wondered if Steve was secretly a siren.

Steve’s Brooklyn accent wasn’t anything special, at least not to anyone else. To Tony, it was a _lure;_ Steve’s voice captivated him in every way possible. Tony could listen to him speak for days without end. But it hadn’t always been that way.

When the two had first encountered each other, Tony resented the sound of Steve’s voice. It always meant trouble, bickering, and worst of all— it exhibited Steve’s harsh disappointment in Tony’s actions. Tony _hated_ every word that fled Steve’s handsome mouth, as it never seemed to mean something positive for Tony; it always made him feel small, incompetent coming from Howard’s best, favourite creation.  It had made Tony miserable.

That was, until the day he flew a nuke into the Chitauri fleet’s portal during the Battle of New York.

There had been evident concern on Steve’s lips as he delivered his, “Stark, you know that’s a one-way trip,” line. Tony took it as the good Captain simply being the caring team leader, but when he heard the cracking, frightened tone in Steve’s voice as he pleaded for Tony to not be dead after the Iron Man’s plummet from the now purely blue, cloudless sky, and into the hard, grey cement, Tony knew, he just _knew_ there was something more to Steve’s words. Something exclusively shared with him.

Now, many years later, Tony could relish in Steve’s groggy, raspy morning voice as they exchanged the day’s first, “I love you”s, and the occasional late nights when Steve was drunk off Asgardian mead and his accent shone through, heavier than ever. Tony adored when Steve quietly, yet melodically sang his ‘old-man songs’ when he cooked their meals, when his voice deepened attractively so with their coquetry, and when he commanded their team authoritatively, but also with confidence and faith equally prominent, present.

Not to mention the sense of pride that always washed through Tony when Steve said his name.

Tony loved the sound of Steve’s voice.

 

* * *

 

 

**( 3 )**

 

Tony did love Steve’s art, yes; but he loved the mannerisms that came with his husband’s creative process even more.

At the beginning of every sketch, drawing, painting— every piece of artwork erected from Steve’s memory, artist’s eye— Steve would delicately observe his subject, a scene he sought out to capture in pencil, acrylics, oil paints, charcoals, whatever his choice of outlet was that time around. He would analyse his idea, his vision like the tactician he was, planning out just _how_ he’d start what Tony would call a masterpiece in the end regardless.

Tony was usually in his workshop when Steve decided to sketch. Steve would be lain on Tony’s ratty couch, chipping away at simpler pencil drawings. They worked separately, but each preferred the silent company of the other. Tony was glad their past issues were very far resolved— Tony could catch glimpses of Steve’s magnificent work, and Steve could answer him mindlessly whilst he listened as Tony explained or ranted about something the super soldier might barely grasp the concept to, but neither minded one bit. It wasn’t like Tony understood any more of Steve’s art theory and terminology.

When Tony wasn’t distracted by his own work, he liked to watch Steve as he brought his ideas to life in a different format from his own. Steve, without his proper distractions, would get sucked into his work. Everything around Steve ceased to exist when it came to his artwork, similar to Tony and his technology and robotics. It was during Steve’s process when the bulk of his mannerisms were performed. When he wasn’t uttering something under his breath, Steve kept the tip of his tongue between his teeth in concentration. His eyes always looked contemplative, and his face expressive. You could always tell a mistake from an accomplishment. The little things Steve did always bestowed a flourish of emotions upon Tony.

As Steve would be nearing the end of a drawing, painting, sketch, or whatever it so be, he would pause.

He would pause, look over his work, accept what he couldn’t correct or fix what he could. It was familiar to what Tony did with his own projects (except, of course, Tony would make sure everything was perfect— but the imperfections of Steve’s work just made his art so much more _Steve)_. When the blond was as satisfied as he could be, he’d show Tony. He would always show Tony. No one but. This, unfortunately, only fed both Tony’s ego and his possessiveness over his husband.

Steve always looked anxious when showing his artwork to Tony, who found it endearing. Even after many years of being married, Steve still got nervous around Tony. Tony didn’t know how a grown man could be so adorable sometimes.

Tony loved Steve’s mannerisms.

 

* * *

 

 

**( 4 )**

 

Until the first time they had kissed, Tony had never once noticed the freckles that dusted Steve’s nose and cheeks.

He had never noticed how much more noticeable they were on sunny summer days, or how they were the same shade of gold as Steve’s hair.

He had never noticed how ethereal they made Steve look when the sun gleamed over his cheekbones when he decided to nap where there were no curtains for floor-to-wall windows.

However, it didn’t take long for Tony to notice how much he loved Steve’s freckles after discovering them.

Oftentimes now, when Tony is curled up against Steve, face pressed up against his lover’s chest, he would angle himself upwards for a better view of Steve’s face so he could trace his fingers across his husband’s freckles. He would connect the dots, make up constellations; whatever he willed at the moment. It was always calming, and Steve never seemed to mind. In fact, Tony was sure Steve enjoyed it just the same. It was a similar interaction as to when Steve combs his fingers through Tony’s hair every time they watched a movie. Clint always makes sure to comment on how grossly affectionate they are. They would just laugh, then exaggerate their lovey-doveness, which would only make Clint groan and complain even more.

Steve’s freckles were generously sprinkled onto his fair Irish complexion. Like stars in a finite sky.

Steve once told him he’d been ashamed of his freckles as a kid. That he’d been thankful he’d been bed-ridden so often that sunlight rarely brought them out as dark as they’d come to be nowadays. He had told Tony about how his mother, Sarah, knew about this insecurity, and would try to cheer him up by calling each of his freckles angel kisses, and would proceed to pepper him with her own kisses, which would send young Steve into a fit of giggles. Tony found that adorable, then thought maybe he should steal that idea.

Tony loved Steve’s freckles.

 

* * *

 

 

**( 5 )**

 

The last thing Tony expected from the stubborn ass with a heart of gold was a sense of humour. And a good one, at that.

Of course, when they first knew each other, it was never present. At least, not around Tony. But once they had put their differences aside, Tony soon learned Steve could make him light up like a Christmas tree with his dry wit and sly commentary.

Tony admired how Steve could maintain a straight face as he delivered a sarcasm-laden reply, or how if you _really_ listened, you could occasionally find a purposely made innuendo intertwined in Steve’s words. Sometimes Tony’s own wisecracking was unmatched to his own husband’s quips and one-liners.

Tony did love Steve’s humour, yes, but it was what his and the other team members’ humour invoked.

Steve’s laugh was like a bell chime; jovial and mellifluous. It could range from as loud and boisterous as Thor’s presence, to soft and fond, typically appearing when Tony did something absolutely moronic (these times usually followed by Steve calling him a dork). And no matter the tone, it was always contagious.

Steve would laugh like there was nothing but happiness in the world. He laughed like he knew no sadness or guilt or pain. His laugh was like music to Tony’s ears. Dare he say, even more so than Steve’s signature Brooklyn accent.

Tony genuinely felt honoured he knew how to make the man laugh with such _realness, authenticity._

Tony loved Steve’s laugh (and, right, his humour too).

 

\- = -

 

(There were many, many things Tony loved about Steve.)

 

 

 


	2. and, oh! one more

Steve Rogers was completely, utterly, madly in love with Tony Stark— he had been for years.

But it wasn’t until now, as he was laying comfortably in bed as he watched his other half tap away at his StarkPad that he finally realised the thing he loved most about Tony.

Steve loved Tony’s brain.

No, not the physical grey matter of the organ, but what went on inside of it.

So, to rephrase— Steve loved the way Tony thought about things. He loved the man’s take, his perspective on life. The way he differentiated one thing from another, and how intricately he pulled apart the problems thrown at him.

Steve loved how Tony always thought about the best decision before the easiest. Though, sometimes that meant self-sacrifice was Tony’s first instinct, which always resulted in Steve getting scares and almost having heart attacks— of course, if it was even possible for that to happen.

Steve loved how Tony never gave a second thought to putting others before himself, contrary to what Steve initially thought about the genius, billionaire, (now ex) playboy, philanthropist. He went out of his way to improve the lives of others, and although he wasn’t the type to walk an elderly lady across the street like Steve, he would always attempt to help out where he could with that big brain of his.

Steve loved how Tony created and solved equations with ease, how he thought up solutions faster than anyone else. He loved how, despite this brilliance, Tony could (and would) still bounce ideas off fellow scientists, and consult those as smart as (or perhaps smarter than) Tony himself.

Steve was so _deeply infatuated_ with the works of Tony. It was unbelievable. Just the _way_ Tony would _—_

“What are you thinking about, Steve, hon?” Tony hums.

Steve grins at his husband. “Just about how amazing you are.”

“Sap,” was Tony’s response, as he continued to tap away at work mostly incomprehensible to Steve.

Steve dipped down to kiss the nape of Tony’s neck. “You love it, though.”

Tony shuts off the tablet and places it on the bedside table before rolling over to face Steve. He’s smiling teasingly. “Of course I do,” he says, leaning forward to place a light peck on the tip of Steve’s nose.

“You want to know what else I’m thinking about?”

“Shoot.”

“About how much I love you.”

Tony makes a faux disgusted noise. “You really are as gross as Clint says.”

Steve mock pouts. “Guess I’ll start filing for divorce then.”

Tony laughs sweetly. “I’m kidding. I love you too, so much.”

“Ugh, sap.”

“Shut up,” Tony rolls his eyes. “How’s about I show you just how much I love you?”

Steve jokingly ponders a moment. “Sounds like a plan,” he simpers.


End file.
